


Lie Next To Me?

by roxyofheart



Category: Homestuck
Genre: :), Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, And Dave's Staying At John's, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff JohnDave, Friends to Lovers, Happy, Lil Funny, M/M, Mutual Pining, No-Sburb, Oneshot, Reeeeally Lowkey Internalized Homophobia, Requited Unrequited Love, Short & Sweet, They're Thirteen/Fourteen, soft, something like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyofheart/pseuds/roxyofheart
Summary: Liking him /stung/ and sometimes even /hurt/. The fact he didn't love him back was obvious, but why was he acting like that? Why did he want you to go up to his bed?(Where John and Dave share their first kiss, right during a sleepover together).
Relationships: John Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Lie Next To Me?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Present Tense and also my first time writing Second Person! Wanted to write something short and sweet, barely revised it, and wanted to write a Christmas Gift for y'all wanting to find fluff on AO3. I don't celebrate anything but I hope y'all have // are having a great celebration!
> 
> And if you're reading this not in December 2020, then have a great day too :)

You ask one more time. "What the fuck does that even mean?"

John sighs, really not wanting to explain it again. God, you're annoying. "It's the game. You place your character on the board. And then you move around with it".

You complain. "That makes absolutely no sense”.

"It's just like literally _every_ other game, Dave," he rolls his eyes at you. Nah, you're not just annoying, you're _impossible_. "You're doing it on purpose, I know you're not that stupid".

And you keep being stubborn because, maybe it doesn't matter that John just wants you to shut up and play. Maybe you _want_ to be annoying, maybe your mind's telling you to be. You don't know, but you respond “I just _happen to think_ that that's not how you play backgammon,” and John groans.

That's new. Groaning. It's also expressive, 'cause it makes you realize that John is tired.

Maybe not tired of you, specifically. You hope not. You hope that he just wants to sleep.

"Well, that's how _I_ play it," he says, eyebrows up. “Doesn't matter. Wanna start or not?”

“Sure,” you respond with a sigh. “If you wanna keep playing it wrong”.

John stares up at you with angry eyes, and really sleepy eyes too (you hope). He was probably repeating it in his head, that you should just sit down and shut up.

“Not gonna judge you”.

You finally sit down on the floor, right opposite to him, and look down at the backgammon board, thinking about what to do. “What color?”

“What?”

“What color do you want? Black or white?”

“Hm…” John prefers black, but he lets you choose. “I guess… black?”

“Alright. Grab your pieces”.

You start collecting all the black pieces in your hand, as John grabs the white ones. You place all of them right next to your foot, on the floor, and wait for John to finish organizing his own. “Now what?”

John stares at you like it's obvious. "Now you choose your character." You start trying to decide which one of those identical pieces would be his 'character'. "I told you that".

"John, please. Allow me to be lost, okay?" You pick a piece that is... round? And black. And just like all the other pieces on the floor. Wow. "Ain't my fault you only have bad games that make no sense".

"Come on, Dave, I'm getting tired of explaining things," he nods. "This is like the seventh time in a row".

"Then we should stop playing," you say, not having any control over your own mouth. "You suck at this. Let's just chill.

And you know you aren't the absolute _best_ in communication. As much as you like to believe you're the best at everything, talking to people is something you maybe could admit to not being _great_ at. And at that moment, you don't want to say anything that you're saying. You don't want to be mean at John. You want to play his games with him, you don't want to be stubborn like that.

What your mind does want is to tell John about your huge fat crush on him again, even if that makes no fucking sense. You want to say it again, to use your words again. You want to tell him in person, instead of typing it this time, how much he means to you. You want to just go and yell how much you like him, how much you've wanted to be with him, and everything that you have ever wanted to say.

But you can't give the guy another chance to destroy your friendship... It's better this way. With John knowing, and not minding it. And with you not having to hide.

But minding _a lot_.

“Chill?” John asks, ignoring the rest of the sentence for a reason, or maybe shooting at least one roll of the eyes. Dave sucks, he must be thinking. Dave is gay _and_ he sucks.

You don't want to say any of that. “Yeah," it comes out.

“What does "chilling" even mean?”

And John says that with a giggle, which means he isn't sad. Good. He's not sad. You can still save this. You can still not be mean.

“Dunno, just tryin’ to escape from your awful ideas”.

Shit.

Why can't you just be normal? Talk normally? Act normally? You can't make those jokes at him anymore, he isn't just your "friend". You're the friend who likes him, the creepy friend who looks into his eyes too much. The friend who isn't a bro anymore, the one who would be excluded if John wasn't such a good person.

It's been two days since you told him about it. Why are you still nervous?

“Wow, you’re a jerk,” but John _doesn't_ giggle that time. You stare at him, realizing it all. “You wanna… eat anything then?”

“Nah. I mean. No. I’m sorry”.

“Sorry? For what?”

You think about it. “I don’t know, I’m kinda impulsive today”.

And John chuckles. “You having your PMS or something?”

“Hilarious,” you shake his head. “Nah, just, sorry. Been kinda mean to you”.

“Dave, that’s… okay?”

And then you realize. Shit, that's really gay of you. Apologizing for being _mean_ at your best friend… that's really gay.

Isn't it?

It's not like you can just do things like that, especially in front of John. John could kick you out of the house. “You’re too gay, get out,” he could say. “I don’t wanna be your friend anymore. You liking me is weird,” he could say. Beat you up, he could do.

But you're overthinking. John isn't even violent, what the fuck? What are you thinking? What's making you think those things?

You've already told John, there's nothing more you can do. What the fuck does your heart want? Does it want to feel the pain again? Does it want you to hear one more time that you aren't loved back? Is that what your head says?

John sure as hell was uncomfortable, you notice, or think you do. And he's also straight, like he made it clear for years. God... what was he thinking?

"Sorry again, then,” you really needed to stop talking.

John stays in silence, as he obviously would after hearing something as gay and stupid as that.

“Well,” he begins, you looking at the floor ‘cause you just _know_ your face is getting red, and, God, that was the worst thing that could happen. And now that he knew, he’d notice. Now that he knew, he wouldn’t take your lack of communication skills as just a random flaw about you, but as a gay reaction to your crush fucking being there.

And then John’s phone sounds an alert. It was exactly midnight.

“Oh. Should we go to bed? Getting pretty late,” he says. You look at him. “Yeah, sure”.

The two of you stand up. "Your bed".

“Where’s my pillow?”

“You lost it?”

John walks away from you to search for your lost pillow everywhere. He ultimately finds it under his bed, next to the mattress that was set for you.

Right there, next to John's bed, is where you would sleep. On the floor, a lot of inches from him, for the first time after telling him you're gay. It was all as organized as it could be. The bed, the mattress, the games next to it, two phones on the desk, and one computer on the table… sleepovers were always the same, and they were always fun.

This one isn't… as fun? Maybe it could've been better, maybe it would've been better if they stayed up late watching movies or something, instead of letting John choose board games.

Or maybe you shouldn't have been rude. That wasn't funny anymore.

You lie down and watch John turn off the lights. He tries not to step on you on the way back and throws himself at his bed with a giggle, to which you unwillingly smiled. You close your eyes, wishing that night to be over.

Wishing to be home, where everything sucked, but at least you don't have to be reminded that John doesn't like you back.

And that he never would. That you had no chance, that he would never look into your eyes, or hold your hands on the streets, or lay next to you, or kiss you on the lips.

It hurt. Maybe you've cried about it once or twice.

And maybe you were crying right there, without realizing it, right on the mattress, with your back to the sheets and your eyes turned straight to the ceiling. The dark ceiling that belonged to the friend you, unfortunately, had the curse to be in love with.

“I shouldn’t have told him,” was the constant. John’s words “I’m not gay” on the screen come back to your head, how dumb, how stupid, how foolish. The blue letters _murdered_ you, even though you knew, you _knew_ , what they would say.

Jesus, Dave, you knew. Why did you have to commit the biggest mistake of your life at 13 years of age? Couldn’t you have waited ‘til you knew who you were? Cool, more like a fucking fool.

Shit. Fucking shit was the word.

“Good night,” you hear John say, and are thinking too much to respond in a satisfactory way. “Night,” you reply with a voice that you hate infinitely, a voice that you hate just having used, a voice that you wish you could delete to do again, because everything you do in front of John matters. Right then John can only _hear_ you, and you're fucking that up. You're fucking yourself up. God, how awful, how awful your voice had sounded.

How awful _you_ are.

But John doesn't think like that.

And John is thinking a lot too. He was always thinking, throughout that whole evening, about you. About what you felt. About what he didn’t feel back and about what you two had and what you two were and what you two were going to be. He also looks up at that dark ceiling, perhaps at the same spot the red eyes of yours were pointing at, and you meet there. You meet because you're both thinking of one another, and then of yourselves. John is comparing, analyzing, he's understanding what had happened, what had gone on during the evening.

He remembers the red letters on his computer screen: shit, I like you. As more than a friend.

 _More than a friend_.

He wants to, and needs to know what that meant, for you. And why his heart started beating louder when he thought about you saying that again. When he thought about you sleeping on his sheets, leaving the smell of his hair on the pillow that was going to stay in his room. He remembers what he had replied, remembers the whole friendship, and tries to compare himself to you.

He sure thinks of you. More than he should.

It was something to think about. His best friend likes him, what did _that_ mean? Did he want to date him? Did he want… to kiss him? There were questions that John wasn’t sure what answer would be the best to. Kissing… Kissing you That wasn’t something he’d like. Right? It definitely wasn't something he ever _thought_ he would like, or something he thought he would ever do. John can't stop tapping his fingers, he can't stop thinking about his next action, and then he's there, doing it.

“Hey, Dave,” he begins, you opening your tear-filled eyes on the mattress next to John's bed. “Do you still mean that? About liking me?”

Your heart skips a beat, as you start thinking of what to say. “Yeah, of course”.

John nods, of course. He can feel his heart start beating faster too when he looks to his left. “Can you come up here?”

You listen. “Please”.

“Why?” he begins, already kneeling up. “You okay? Feel sick?”

“Nah,” and you're afraid you made John sick with all of your rudeness towards him. “Then what?”

“Can you lie next to me?”

There's nothing else you want to do more. To _lie down_ next to John. To feel his skin through the soft texture of both your pajamas, to accidentally touch his hand while you committed the seemingly friendly act of sharing a bed together. Yes, yes, you can. And you would. If John would let you.

“O-Of course”.

And so you do it. You try not to touch John’s legs with your feet while you get under the warm sheets. John helps you up, moving the heavy sheets with his hand, bringing his pillow to the left, adjusting it under your head. Wow. John’s eyes get used to the darkness, and he can see you. Looking good. But looking _dead_. Absolutely motionless, arms next to your body. He turns around so he can face you, laying his head on top of his hands, and waiting for you to stare back.

Your eyes don't respond. You look dead but feel more alive than ever. You've never felt your body react in so many ways at the same time, your eyes, your lungs, your heart, your skin, v fingers, it's like every part of you is trying to move and every single piece of you is trying to tell John how much that fucking means, just being there, feeling his closeness, feeling the same warmth from the same mattress with him, feeling all with him, only him. In the dark. In his room. And in his bed.

God, you have to say something. But you can't. The only body part that seems not to work is your mouth.

Thankfully, John is faster. John always spoke first. “Thanks,” and he also doesn't move anything, only his head and mouth now.

You're just glad you dried you eyes after lying down. "No problem”.

“I like lying next to you”.

You have no problem replying. Being vague at him is really easy. “Me too”.

John chuckles, but it's too low for you to be self-conscious about. It's too warm, too pointed at your shoulder.

Your right shoulder wants to move. It wants to react after having been breathed on by John Egbert.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and your heart almost stops completely. “Yeah," your mind says, but your mouth can't. Your mouth can only open, and then close again, and tremble, as you imagine John's lips against it. When you imagine John, how he might have looked two seconds ago when he was formulating that question, your heart almost stops again. He is too powerful, he has everything inside of you under his control. And he wouldn’t lose that control anytime soon, you notice.

But you're able to respond. You're able to turn your head to him, whispering, really embarrassedly, "yes".

John then comes closer, closer, and closer, not minding the time it took you, until he touches your faces together. You can feel the skin on his nose brush against you, close, _so_ close, and time goes by so slowly.

But you want time to stop right there, just as _John_ is about to kiss you. You want time to freeze and keep John Egbert's eyes closed, skin so close to yours, intentions so not-friendly. With his hands just slightly twitching where, yes, you can feel them. With the energy of the friend you love right in front of you, wanting to kiss you, wanting to touch his lips with yours. It was maybe too much for time, maybe time wasn't powerful enough to maintain an image like that one.

And so, it happens, your lips touch slowly and maybe _too_ slowly for you to even feel it. You try not to move much, afraid of doing something wrong. John was stagnant too, only feeling your mouth tremble against his own. You kiss back without even knowing what kissing means, just waiting and waiting, and then finishing everything with a loud noise, feeling John move away.

What had happened?

John sighs. “Thought I wasn’t supposed to like that…”

You blink, stable, trying to process what John’s words meant. He had liked it. He had _liked_ it. He had liked kissing you, liked brushing his lips against yours and feeling your nose poke his cheek, he had liked it. And it wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t your mind anymore, it was real and believable.

And you want to do it again.

John doesn't ask this time. He moves his head, moves his right hand, holds your face and kisses you on the lips again. Your eyes widened, you weren't expecting another kiss, and then they close as your hands stay immobile and your heart goes up. John caresses your face, poking with his fingers, playing with the back of your hair, and moving his lips this time. You start to try to keep up with the rhythm, wondering what life is like without the kiss of John Egbert, because there's no way you went so long without it.

You're so close to each other, touching the skin on your face, hearts beating together, hair falling on top of shut eyes. John smells different, maybe like bread this time? But he doesn't taste like it. He tastes exactly as you imagined he did, exactly as he tasted inside the dreams you had, where he'd hold you and tell you he loved you, where he'd pull you close and let you know how much you're loved. You love his smell, and maybe you even love it when he smells like bread. And you definitely, definitely, love his taste.

John touches your face in a way that no one had obviously touched you before. Your cheeks thrive at feeling the pressure of those fingers right there, slow… and thick… and carefully dancing on your face. You move for the first time, left arm going to John’s back and pulling him closer, John’s chest touching your own.

He immediately breathes in, not breaking the kiss or the physical contact. He moves his right leg, placing it on top of your hips, and pulls closer, and closer, and closer, until the kiss is so hot and yet so innocent at the same time. You pull even more on John’s waist, feeling everything sparkle inside you, your heart just getting close to completely bursting. You peck his lips, feeling John begin to finish the kiss, slowly, and carefully.

You still don’t know what it means. Who's meant to kiss each lip?

But it had been good. And John had actually… _loved_ kissing you. He had loved kissing his best friend and it was just about the best thing he had done in a while. His stomach trembles as he maintains his hands on top of your skin, “am I supposed to take it away?” and his legs so, so close to your hips, “should I have even put it there?”

In his eyes, you're _so beautiful_ , and he's been repressing that thought for maybe too long. The way your eyes look when you aren't wearing your shades, is just so _unbelievable_ , and maybe, maybe that meant something. Of course it did.

Maybe he likes you the same way you like him. "More than a friend". Maybe he'd wanted to kiss you for longer than he thought, maybe the thought about telling his dad that he was dating a boy wasn’t so bad after all.

You open your eyes, almost petrified. You don't know what had happened, what would happen next, or if John would kiss you again. It’s like the world stops, and there were two moments in your life, the one you were born in, and the one John had kissed you in. You don’t know what to say or if you should pinch yourself. You don’t know what’s true, what’s not, what he’s thinking, if that was just a joke…

Of if he actually wanted to kiss you like that. You had just kissed John Egbert. You had kissed John Egbert, the person who made you feel like mold whenever he walked near you. The person who made you feel so agitated whenever they were just _there_.

John had so much power over you, and there they were, his hands. Right on you, happily.

You don't move, allowing himself to feel that skin for a little longer. Those thick fingers on your skin, on the side of your cheeks… caressing you like you've always wanted him to.

You stare into the eyes in front of you, two deep oceans, much darker there in the lightless space of his bedroom. He looks… different without his glasses on. But still beautiful. Still so attractive. Still someone you’d want to kiss desperately.

Still someone you’d want to be held by. Someone you convinced yourself you would never have but that now, you had hope for.

Shit. _Shit_. What could you do now?

“Wow,” John speaks first. _Finally_ , you both think. The silence is over. The amazing, unknown, and mysterious… silence is over.

“Y-Yeah,” you then say. “Wow" was right. Too right.

John smirks at you, eyebrows raised and no answer ready yet. There's really nothing that can be said, only what can be shown.

“I…” You can't stop staring at his lips, noticing they were humid, seeing they weren’t dry from inches away. “God. I liked that”.

“Me too”.

John giggles, moving his hands… up… and down… your face…

“Shit, John,” he smiles. “What is it?”

You breathe in. “Did you… mean that? Or did you just…”

“Yeah, I did,” he says quickly. “Really did”.

And that almost hurts to hear.

“Yeah?”

”Uhum”.

You don't know what to say. “I thought you…”

“Yeah, I didn’t know. But no,” you nod. “I think I like you”.

“For real?” you want to ask, just to be sure, like a stupid teenager in love. No, you can't. You can barely move your mouth.

But it's just the silence now. John is silent, but smiling, and you are silent too, mouth open, heart beating.

You can't believe you're _t_ _here_. And you aren't just there, as a friend. You're there as someone who had given him the first kiss of his entire life, the kiss that’d stay with him forever.

“Didn’t think my first kiss would be on John Egbert’s bed,” you find the courage to joke. John keeps smiling, happy, relaxed. Ah, it doesn't matter. Nothing does. The fact that he's repressed himself for so long, it doesn't matter now. Now, it's okay.

He's smiling, and that's always a good sign. You think about the fact you had worried about being rude and gay towards him some minutes before, and now he was smiling after kissing you.

And that was quite a development.

You have nothing to say, so you don't. You just move away from John.

Separating hurts. John giggles, and you smile along, moving down to your mattress, processing the words, not being able to process the words…

He thinks he likes you. He thinks he likes you…

“No,” John says. “Kiss me again. Just once”.

And those are the words that do it for you. You freeze, and John pulls you close.

He holds the collar of your shirt, touching your lips again with a lot of force this time. You gladly kiss back, feeling John’s tongue for the first time and knowing that that had to be the _best_ moment of your life. He tastes so good now, he feels so good, he smells so good, his heartbeat is so close. Your mouths move together.

“Hmm,” you tried not to pay attention to the fact that you're making noises against John’s lips. You move again, far apart this time. You fall on the mattress, happily. John laughs out loud, from his bed. “Hope dad can’t hear us”.

God, you imagine what he would think. “There’s my son being gay with his friend”. What would he think?

What would anyone think? And did it matter that much?

“I think you bit my lip,” you say through your giggles. “I did. I did,” his laugh is so beautiful. Everything about him is. “Wow, thanks”. You're so fucking happy. “Say you like a guy and then bust his lip. Really nice of you, Egbert”.

 _Egbert_ was a way he liked being called by you. Hearing you speak was good. Hearing you say his name was better. Wow, he really liked you, didn’t he? He hadn’t really liked anyone that way before, why did it feel so good to?

“I like you”.

“Me too”.

“Like, a lot”.

“I… can’t say that yet,” it was okay. “But I like you. I really do”.

You breathe in. 

“Did I… Did I fall asleep and start dreaming?”

That's so sweet, John has to admit. So sweet.

“But I…” John is nervous, hesitating, the feeling of being alone in his bed again almost torturing. “Have no idea what to do”. You smirk. “Like, no idea”.

“That’s alright,” he says. “Just glad you like me. That’s what matters”.

And John nodded. “Is it?”

“Yeah,” so good to know. “All I needed to hear”.

Being on a bed alone was the normal thing to happen, what was meant to happen on that evening. But you look up, and are sad to not have fingers on your cheeks anymore. John looks up too, and is sad to not have anyone touching his waist or his chest anymore.

They say the first love is never forgotten. Maybe it works the same for the first kiss.

You both hope so.

“You wanna… play more games? Or just sleep?”

“That sounds too much like innuendo”. he chuckles. “Maybe we should just sleep. Think”.

“Sleep things out”.

“Yeah”.

“Dream about me”.

“I always do,” your face goes red. “I… Maybe that was too much to share.

John doesn't care, but still makes fun of you. It really isn't that important to him. He likes you, he likes Dave Strider, and that is all he knew on that evening.

“Good… night”.

“Sorry for being rude. Again”.

John giggles, not giving a shit. “I really do suck at backgammon”.


End file.
